Thursday, February 18, 2010

I realize that last night when I reported the events of our neighborhood dog chase, I forgot one minor detail. Forgot or perhaps I was just swept away by the blinding awesome of the Olympic men’s figure skating competitor wearing the hillbilly-faux-overalls-unitard with the “dirt” on the knees. Perhaps.

This morning though, I remembered.

After driving the dark streets searching for our dog-on the-run, I noticed her darting in and out of a nearby street. I quickly pulled the station wagon into a “T” perpendicular formation blocking the street from oncoming traffic to protect the dog. I got out of the car and called to her and she wagged her tail and continued running between the manicured yards.

In a move that never fails to bring her running to me when we are at home, I lay on the ground and called her name. She ignored me. I raised my arms and legs, waving them in the air, calling her name. Nothing. I tried again. Again. Bob called to me from his car seat, “Mama, what are you doing?”

What was I doing? I rolled onto my side and saw three cars stopped in the street, the drivers watching me closely. So this wasn’t good. I got up quickly and smiled and waved to the people I had trapped with my impromptu roadblock and confused with my impression of a desperate turtle on its back. I ran back to the car, put it in drive, made an awkward six point turn, and continued the search.